


letters from cambridge

by twentyshadows



Category: Cloud Atlas - All Media Types, Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
Genre: Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, indirect major character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 20:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3783637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twentyshadows/pseuds/twentyshadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sixsmith's corresponding letters to Frobisher's letters from Zedelghem. Continues a bit after the end of the original story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some details taken from the film, but overall strongly connected to the book.
> 
> The first letter is written as a telegram in order to follow the canon, so don't worry; the whole work isn't written like that in all caps.

CAMBRIDGE, CAMBRIDGESHIRE. JUL 2 1931

FROBISHER, CHATEAU ZEDELGHEM, NEERBEKE

YOUR PARENTS ASKING WHERE YOU ARE FATHER VERY CONCERNED MOTHER NEAR FRANTIC STOP ARE YOU STILL ABROAD AND ARE YOU SAFE STOP  
RUFUS SIXSMITH


	2. Chapter 2

Cambridge University,  
Cambridgeshire,  
East of England,  
9th - vii - 1931

Dear Frobisher,

Do pardon the telegram; one has quite a hard time sending letters when one never really knows where you will be. This will be yet another hasty message so that it, together with a sum of money that I hope will be proficient, can reach you as soon as possible. I am very sorry to hear that your visit at Zedelghem is not yet too good and hope that it will better soon; I truly do.

Be safe.

Yours,  
R.S.


	3. Chapter 3

Cambridge University,  
21st - vii - 1931

Dear Frobisher,  
  
I inquired about this Adam Ewing to Jansch, but without luck, unfortunately; he said that he had never heard the name before. Curiously, I find myself recognising the name faintly, though I cannot explain how or from where. (Here I imagine you scoffing, saying sarcastically, 'What, there's something your physics can't explain? Fancy that.') I wish I could inquire about the matter further, but my studies are keeping me frightfully busy and Jansch did not seem interested in assisting me. He did, however, seem greatly interested in your books and wants a closer look at the three from the later 17th century; could you perhaps post them? There is an enclosed list of his prices, as good as I could get them.

Yours,  
R.S.


	4. Chapter 4

Cambridge University,  
8th - viii - 1931

Dear Frobisher,

Jansch was very pleased with the copies you sent, and wonders if you would meet him in Bruges to handle over the rest directly? Seems rather suspicious, I would say, but I suppose you know this better than I do. In any case, be safe.

Very glad to hear about your success with 'Der Todtenvogel'. I find myself wishing that I could hear it; I probably would not appreciate it enough on account of my complete lack of musical talent, but I do rather miss your music. Nothing quite compares to waking up by you humming new melodies in the middle of the night.

Yours,  
R.S.


	5. Chapter 5

Cambridge University,  
23rd - viii - 193

Dear Frobisher,  
  
I am glad that the forged letter was a success, and, as a matter of fact, I did get all the way to Saffron Walden to post it myself. Au contraire to popular belief, I do quite like being outside.

On another note, do you remember Durham? He is a friend of mine, another physicist here at Cambridge, I think I mentioned him once or twice. You probably do not remember him, but never mind. He has been taken to trial and is very likely to be put into prison. I suppose someone found out and went to the police. I am not worried about myself, as we were always merely friends, but I am the more worried for Durham. He is not one fit for prison, so to speak, and I fear that he will not fare well. And it does remind one what horrible times we live in, and how close one always is to being caught oneself. Please be safe; if not for yourself, than maybe for me, lest this will end in tears.

Yours,  
R.S.


	6. Chapter 6

Cambridge University,  
6th - ix - 1931

Dear Frobisher,

Risley, lovely fellow in my year here at Caius, is insisting that I socialise more and has been dragging me to various societies. It has been dreadful. Worst was the debating society. You would have laughed yourself silly watching me trying to debate. Absolute disaster. The day I learn to talk easily with strangers will be a merry day.  
  
'One writes music because winter is eternal and because if one didn't, the wolves and blizzards would be at one's throat all the sooner.' You always seem so certain of things like this. Why does one study physics and maths, I wonder? I have not got the faintest idea. Perhaps one hopes that one might do someone good with it one day. Perhaps one tries to make sense of the 'wolves and blizzards', putting them into numbers and equations. Or perhaps, as you suggest, it is merely a way of escaping them. Perhaps, where you are notes and music, I am numbers and equations.  
  
Perhaps not. I was never a good philosopher.

Yours,  
R.S.

P.S. Did you find anything familiar in Ayrs' description of this 'nightmarish café'? I seem to do, but for the life of me cannot say from where. Very curious.


	7. Chapter 7

Cambridge University,  
21st - ix - 1931

Dear Frobisher,  
  
I was planning on telling you how beautiful Cambridge is at the dawn of autumn, but I suppose that you know that already. Really, you were the one who taught me to see the beauty in things like that. (Like when you wanted to go to Corsica because you had heard that it was 'very beautiful' and with little more reason than that. I was very doubtful, if you remember, but of course you were right; it was very beautiful.)  
  
At any rate, Risley, the fellow I mentioned in the previous letter, _insisted_ that I should go punting with him and some of the others this very night; I only just got back inside. Imagine five Natural Science scholars trying to make their way down the Cam, none really sure of how punting is actually done - well, Risley was, but he was too busy laughing at the other four of us to actually be of any use. Swimming in the Cam in late September is nothing I would recommend warmly, though I suppose it is rather refreshing. We were all completely soaked as we went back to our respective colleges. At least gave ourselves - and some amused onlookers - a good laugh.  
  
By the way, just earlier today, as I was wandering the grounds, a young man - I did not catch his name and do not think I have seen him before - approached me and asked if I knew what had become of you. I said that I did not, much to his disappointment, and he walked off without another word. Did you know that you are something of a mysterious legend here at Cambridge? I suppose that you did; I did not. People mentioning you every now and again, or asking for your whereabouts like the young fellow. In a way, I suppose you have not really left here.

Yours,  
R.S.


	8. Chapter 8

Cambridge University,  
4th - x - 1931

Dear Frobisher,  
  
I wish there was something interesting to tell you about what is going on at Cambridge, but really, there is not much to tell. I have begun a small study of Curie's work on radioactivity, which, along with other studies, is keeping me busy, as always. Not much time for socialising, I am (not so) sorry to report.  
  
By the way, my brother Adam (I must have mantioned him to you sometime) has got engaged. Sophy, she is called. I would have said that she is nice, but I only met her once, a couple of months ago, and, honestly, the strongest impression she gave was misquoting _Hamlet_ at me. At any rate, I am glad that he has found someone. I cannot really say I 'envy' you and him being able to fall for women like that, but does it not make things a whole lot easier?

Yours,  
R.S.


	9. Chapter 9

Cambridge University,  
16th - x - 1931

Dear Frobisher,  
  
I suppose that this is not what you wish to hear, but your parents have contacted me again, asking for your whereabouts; probably because I did as you said and shredded their first letter. I did the same with this one, but felt obligated to inform you about it nevertheless.  
  
Some months ago I wrote to you about Durham, a friend who had been taken into trial; well, his trial is ended now, he has been convicted and consequently sent to prison. Durham, who would not harm a fly to save his life. It is terrible, this system, utterly terrible. I do so hope that we will live to see its end; I truly do.  
  
I hope you are all right after your visit to Zonnebekke, and after the dreadful business with the pheasant. Remember to be safe.

Yours,  
R.S.


	10. Chapter 10

Cambridge University,  
5th - xi - 1931

Dear Frobisher,

How are you? I mean, are you fine? I have tried to refrain from worrying, or at least refrained from voicing it too much to you, but your later letters have had me more worried than ever. Kindly do tell me if you are not well; you know how I am with words and emotions, and how I get with things like this. Focusing on my studies is becoming increasingly difficult. If there is anything I can do for you, as always, let me know right away. And please, be safe. Really.

Write back as soon as possible.

Yours,  
R.S.


	11. Chapter 11

Cambridge University,  
13th - xi - 1931

Dear Frobisher,

Your latest letter has left me quite speechless. I am deeply sorry about your having to leave Ayrs &c, and in such a rushed and unpleasant manner. You write that you are fine, but give little proof to support this statement, and as a physicist I will have to distrust the statement. Please, return to England. Term is near over, so you would not have to return to Cambridge should you not wish to. I am disinclined to pry, but this seems designed to end in tears.

Yours,  
R.S.


	12. Chapter 12

Somewhere between Cambridge and London,  
10th - xii - 1931

Dear Frobisher,

I suppose that I will reach you sooner than this letter, but I cannot think of what to do, except to write to you. You said not to worry, but I am afraid that I must completely disregard your advice this time, and I am thus currently on my way to Bruges. I left Cambridge as soon as your latest letter reached me. Please stay where you are if possible, and, above all, stay safe.  
  
I have not noted how slowly trains move before; I estimate we are currently moving at a mere 90 miles per hour, not to mention our continued and unexplained stops here and there. Immensely frustrating. I am predicted to reach Bruges by tomorrow afternoon. Please be safe until then.

Yours,  
R.S.

P.S. Do you remember the flowers in our hotel room in Cambridge? It was you who bought(?) them. All those flowers. I never understood why. (Not sure why I came to think of that now. Worry has no mercy on one's intellect.)


	13. Chapter 13

Bruges,  
15th - xii - 1931

Dear Frobisher,

Do you know for how long a gunshot sounds? Well, the shot itself only lasts a couple of milliseconds, but the resonance makes the sound last for several seconds. One and a half seconds; I counted them. I am holding on to those one and a half seconds, like a madman to his last sane thought, counting them over and over because, while I used to count and calculate everything, they now seem to be the only thing I can count. There was a gunshot, and the resonance sounded for one and a half seconds. Everything becomes rather blurred after that.

Yours,  
R.S.


	14. Chapter 14

Bruges,  
16th - xii - 1931

Dear Frobisher,

What does one do when it is over, then? Return to Cambridge, I suppose. Returning to Cambridge. People will be talking about you there, I am quite certain. My God, Robert, I cannot do this.

Yours,  
R.S.


	15. Chapter 15

Corbara,  
Haute-Corse,  
Corsica,  
29th - i - 1932

Dear Frobisher,

We are at Corsica again, probably sooner than you expected. Well, I am at Corsica; you know that I do not believe in an afterlife, in a heaven or a hell, but neither can I believe that what is in this urn is really you. At any rate, I hope that you would be all right with this arrangement, rather than having a funeral. I would have set one up, but I could not see who would come, and those who might have come would not have deserved to be there. You arranged everything for your musical piece, left precise instructions on what to do with it, yet did not write a word about your funeral. Why were you always like that?

Be that as it may, I will spread your ashes right here, let them follow the wind and then rest peacefully under the Corsican stars; I think you would be content with that.  
  
Your family has sent multiple letters, but I burned them all without breaking their seal. I hope you do not mind. However, I sent a letter about what has happened to Eva; after all that you have written to me about her, it only seemed right. She replied, but I burned that letter with its seal unbroken as well. You will have to forgive me for that.  
  
I truly wish that you had let me say goodbye when you were still here; it would have made everything so much simpler. I tell myself these things, but I do not even believe them myself. I would never have been able to say goodbye to you. I would not have been able to let go of you to save my life, and I suppose you knew that as well as I do. Perhaps it was the best for both of us that you crept down from the belfry in silence; still, I wonder if it hurt as much for you as it does for me.  
  
Let us say that it was for the better that I was two minutes too late. Let us say that.  
  
I tell myself that it will be done after this, that I will leave you here, return to Cambridge, and normal life will ensue. "Normal" is an obscure word. Normal, following the norm. What happens when the norm is forcibly blown away, then? Normality ceases to exist. Nothing will ever be "normal" after this. I am sorry to say it, but that is how it is. And I will not leave you here. Love is a natural phenomenon, out of our control, and it pays no heed to the boundaries of life and death. Suppose a part of you will always be with me. Suppose, the thought of that will keep me standing.  
  
_Et mentem mortalia tangunt._

Yours,  
R.S.


End file.
